


Take that jump (and don’t fear the fall)

by dezemberzarin



Series: I Lived Verse [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Time, Homophobia, M/M, brief Mario/OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are pathetic, Reus,” Mario told him fondly and moved over to pull his shoes off. “You should thank your lucky stars that I am an awesome best friend and would never take advantage of your vulnerable state. Kevin would draw a dick on your face, if he was in my position right now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take that jump (and don’t fear the fall)

It was Robert’s birthday and they had all gathered in a dimly lit local club that played its music so loud that it made everything going on further than two feet from them look like a very bad mime-show. At Marco’s table Kevin was yelling loudly about some fans he’d met, who had taught him the most amazing BVB chant, seriously, you have to hear it, guys; but even if Marco had cared enough to listen to him, he was too distracted because Mario was still missing. 

At some point during the night he’d just disappeared from their ragtag group of players and their assorted significant others, which shouldn’t concern Marco as much as it did. His best friend might have been the baby of the group, but Marco knew better than anyone that Mario was able to take care of himself; and how much he resented Marco’s protective streak. If he hadn’t indulged as much as he had in the beer that was being passed around, Marco might have even been able to force his mind out of the constant loop of puzzlement and mild annoyance at Mario’s absence. But as it was, he was stuck on the topic. 

“Seriously though, where did he go?” Marco was uncomfortably aware that his voice sounded whiny and from the look on Mats’ face he wasn’t the only one. Nevertheless, his friend seemed to decide to bear with Marco’s petulant state of mind. 

“I don’t know, man. He said he wanted to get something from the bar that wasn’t sloshy beer.” Mats smirked as he saw the outraged look on Marco’s face, who was still clutching at his half-empty bottle. 

“Leave him be. You guys don’t have to be attached at the hip at all times, you know.”

Marco stared at him, because really. Mats didn’t have to make it sound like him and Mario were incapable of being apart for even minutes at a time. It wasn’t like that. They were just…friends. Best friends. Marco had never met anyone he’d connected with that instantly; as soon as he and Mario were introduced it felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. Which they might have, except for the age difference and thus different cohorts they’d both experienced their upbringing and football education at Dortmund in. Not that Marco was bitter about that or anything. 

It was no wonder they spent so much time together now, they were just trying-

“To make up for the past 15 years, we know,” Kevin interrupted his train of thought and Marco stared at him in amazement for a couple of seconds before he realized he must have said some of that out loud. Hiding a wince, he pushed away the bottle of beer in front of him. Being a professional athlete had its drawbacks, one of them being that Marco was an incredible lightweight. He’d never indulged in partying and its assorted pleasures to the extent his friends in school had. It was one of the reasons he’d always felt a bit left out, even though they’d really tried to include him in their circle. Until he’d met Mario, Marco had never really felt that a friend just got him. Which. Brought him back to his original thought. 

“I’m going to go look for him,” he announced, indicating for Mats to get out of the booth. But Mats didn’t budge. 

“You’re not,” he said, firmly pushing another bottle towards Marco. “He’ll be back eventually.” 

Marco squinted at him. He wasn’t sure whether it was alcohol-induced paranoia or if Mats was actually trying to keep him from finding Mario for some reason. That was ridiculous though. What possible reason could he have for doing that? It wasn’t like Mario and Marco kept any secrets from each other. Mario was probably the only person on Earth who knew about Marco’s embarrassing first time with his neighbor’s older sister – he’d finished within about ten seconds and she’d been so annoyed that she had forced him to climb out the window and down the drain pipe. Which had promptly given way and Marco had found himself bare-assed in the rosebushes. 

When Marco had told Mario his friend had laughed so hard he’d cried, snorting rather unattractively while doing so and clutching at Marco’s shoulder for support. But once he’d gotten a hold of himself he’d solemnly promised never to tell a soul – as solemnly as one could be while still wiping tears of laughter away. The point was, they didn’t really have secrets from another, not ones that counted anyway. So Mats acting like there was something he knew about Mario that Marco didn’t, was, to put it mildly, a tad infuriating. 

“Dude, what’s the big deal,” he said, without picking up the bottle that Mats was still trying to push at him. “He’s probably gotten cornered by some groupies and they won’t let him leave.” Marco tried and failed not to smile at the memory of Mario in a gaggle of teenage girls with Dortmund scarfs, most of them as tall as him, staring at Marco with silent desperation. Marco had gone and saved him, of course. Eventually. 

“Just leave him be for now,” Mats said, giving Marco an intense gaze he couldn’t interpret. “For me, okay?” 

Marco realized he wouldn’t be able to sway Mats on this right now and gave a noncommittal shrug, hoping his friend didn’t realize that Marco had just avoided giving him an answer he would have to go back on later. Mats was probably right anyway, Mario couldn’t be far. But that didn’t mean Marco wouldn’t try to cajole him back to their table once he found him. As far as Marco was concerned, monopolizing Mario’s free time came as a perk of being his best friend. 

Mats kept an eye on him and to mellow his friend Marco downed another one of the bottles in front of him, paying little attention to the taste as he drank it. It seemed to placate Mats but Marco knew he’d crossed a line, his body protesting against the too-rapid alcohol intake. He stayed in his seat for five more minutes, eating some salt pretzels to alleviate the rolling in his stomach, but his bladder was killing him. When he tapped Kevin on the shoulder to let him get up, the other man shot Mats a look. Marco rolled his eyes, instantly regretting it when his already hazy vision seemed to swim at the movement. 

“Fuck off, man, I need to take a piss, alright? Want me to wet myself right here?”

He pushed past a relenting Kevin and wove his way through the crowd towards the bathrooms at the back of the club, avoiding Lewi and his group who were apparently intent on playing some game that involved body shots with the bottle of insanely expensive vodka he’d been given for his birthday. Marco’s stomach protested violently at the mere thought. Thankfully he reached the men’s bathroom without one of the guys spotting him, slipping past the line of women that were waiting their turn for the bathroom next door. 

One of the stall doors was closed and Marco could hear muffled moaning when he stepped up to the urinals, unzipping with a relieved sigh. Idly he wondered who the hell would want to have sex in a place that distinctly smelled like bodily fluids, and had probably seen its last spring cleaning about a decade ago. Marco’s head thrummed with the music that was still thumping despite the closed bathroom door. He really wanted to lean his forehead against the cool tile, but he’d probably contract an STD by merely touching it. It was that sort of night. Instead he opted for splashing some water on his face once he’d zipped back up and washed his hands. 

He’d just finished drying his face by wiping it on his sleeve when the stall door bust open and Mario stumbled out with a blonde guy at least one head taller than him who was clearly trying to get his hands under his shirt. Mario was flushed and laughing, trying to bat the guy’s hands away as he looked up and met Marco’s gaze in the mirror. He froze, the guy bumping into him and using the opportunity to wrap both arms around Mario’s middle, pressing up behind him. Mario didn’t even seem to notice, still rooted to the spot and staring at Marco. His face that had just seconds ago been flushed with heat looked deathly pale now, blood draining away with shock. 

“Hey,” Mario said and then seemed at a loss how to continue. Marco knew the feeling. He was a bit speechless himself. The guy who was still wrapped around Mario unfortunately didn’t seem to have the same problem. “Hey man, would you mind giving us some space?” he said, friendly, but clearly irritated at being interrupted. Marco would have liked to point out that a public bathroom in an overcrowded club didn’t really seem like the best place to get some privacy, but his mind was still stuck on the guy’s hands on Mario’s hips and the fact that he really didn’t like seeing them there. Which was. Unexpected. 

When Marco made no move and didn’t answer, the guy frowned. “Dude, piss off, alright? We’re busy here.” 

As if to illustrate his point he shoved at Marco’s shoulder which sent him stumbling. His footing hadn’t been the best even before some fucking blonde giant decided to push him around because he’d interrupted his make-out session with Mario. With _Mario_. His best friend, who was apparently more than a little bit gay. He could hear Mario say something but it didn’t even register properly as he managed to make his way to one of the toilets; alcohol, sudden movement and the revelation of the last few minutes finally getting the better of him. While he emptied out the contents of his stomach, Marco realized with something akin to faint wonder that Mats, for once in his life, had been right about something. 

*

Mario’s car was freezing, AC blasting icy air into Marco’s face as they drove through the deserted streets of Dortmund. Marco was pretty sure his fingers were going to fall off but he didn’t say anything, resting his face against the side window and staring out into the night. For one, he was still genuinely speechless about what happened back at the club. Once Marco had thrown up what had felt like his whole intestines and liver for good measure, Mario had more or less manhandled him out of the bathroom and across the club towards the exit. 

He hadn’t stopped, even when Mats had tried to intercept them, shortly informing his friend that Marco wasn’t feeling well and Mario was taking him home. One glance at Marco’s face and Mats had let them go, muttering something about lightweights and slapping Marco’s shoulder when he passed him. Mario had bundled him into the passenger seat of his car and actually buckled him in when Marco couldn’t seem to figure out how the seatbelt clicker thing worked. It hadn’t been his finest moment.

Mario hadn’t said anything since then, but Marco could feel his friend watching him from the side, darting glances when he thought Marco wasn’t paying attention. Marco could only guess at what was going on inside his friend’s head right now and it pissed him off more than it should have. Usually he could read Mario like a well-worn book, but tonight had shown him rather drastically that there were parts in his best friend’s life he wasn’t privy to. That Mario obviously didn’t want him to be privy to. The thought stung and Marco tried to remember if he’d ever given Mario a reason to think that Marco would be anything but totally ok with his best friend being…well, apparently not totally straight. 

_Well, there is the fact that you threw up violently about two minutes after finding out._ Fuck. Oh fuck, Mario wasn’t thinking- 

“It wasn’t because of that,” Marco blurted out and Mario’s head swiveled towards him so fast Marco almost got a crick in his head from watching. 

“What?” 

“The throwing up, I mean, it wasn’t- I’m really drunk right now, okay?” Marco said, feeling around for an explanation, but getting distracted by the fact that Mario was still watching him. “Jesus, would you watch the road?” 

“I am,” Mario said, but turned his eyes to the road again. “This might shock you, but I kind of noticed the being drunk part when you couldn’t figure out how the seatbelt worked.” 

Marco scowled. “Your fucking car is weird, these aren’t normal seatbelts. You need an astrio- astralphy- a fucking degree to figure these things out.” He rubbed at his face and grimaced when his fingers came away sticky with dried sweat and something that looked suspiciously like glitter. 

“Anyway, that’s not what I was trying to say. I didn’t throw up because I saw that guy with you, ok? I don’t care who you kiss-“ _Lie. Such a fucking lie. You hated when that guy had his hands on him-_ “whether it’s a girl or a guy. Unless they’re a Schalke fan. Then we’re going to have words,” Marco finished lamely, stomach knotting with anxiety as he stared at his best friend’s face and hoped to hell that he hadn’t fucked this up even worse. 

Mario didn’t reply immediately and Marco was already opening his mouth again when his friend spoke. “Thanks,” Mario said quietly. “I- that means a lot to me.” He gave Marco a sideways glance. “I meant to tell you, you know? It’s just,” he huffed out a laugh. “I don’t usually talk about it to, well, anyone. So I didn’t know how.”

“You told Mats,” Marco pointed out, trying to keep his voice from showing how much that bit of information was still eating at him. Either the alcohol was still doing its work or Mario just knew him too well to be fooled by Marco’s attempt at nonchalance, but Mario shot him a worried glance. 

“I never told Mats,” he said. “He caught me looking at - someone’s ass one day at training and he pretty much guessed from there. Even offered to cover for me when I wanted to hook up with someone. I’m guessing he tried to keep you away from me tonight?” 

“I think he was only moments away from making me pee in a bottle or something,” Marco muttered and they both snorted. 

Mario sobered quickly though. “You would have been the first person I’d have told,” he said quietly. “If I wasn't- I mean if I wanted people to know, I would have told you first.” 

Marco hated himself a little for how much this admission relieved him, but he still couldn’t entirely let it go. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”

“Not much of a point, is there?” Mario said. “As long as I want to keep playing I can’t be gay. And I always knew that football was the thing I was meant to do.”

The way he said it was so matter of fact that Marco hurt for him. He would have liked to argue, but he knew Mario was right. It didn’t matter that this was the 21st century and that gay marriage had been legal for over a decade now, football had always been and still was an utterly homophobic sport. Of course there had been some former players coming out, but an openly gay player was still a taboo that most people seemed to be uncomfortable even discussing. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for Mario to decide in between who he was and what he desperately wanted to be and felt his stomach clench. 

“I’m sorry,” he said and reached over to put a clumsy hand on Mario’s arm, desperately wishing he was less drunk and confused about his own reaction back at the club. Mario deserved to have someone there for him who wasn’t as shitty at this whole stuff as Marco was. He’d never been great at talking about his feelings, or anyone else’s for that matter. It was one of the reasons Caro had cited when she’d broken up with him. With Mario it was supposed to be easier, always had been easier so far, but right now Marco was keenly aware of his own shortcomings as a best friend. 

“I’m sorry,“ Marco repeated helplessly and could feel Mario’s muscles tightening beneath his fingers and then relax again. 

“Yeah,” Mario breathed out and the gaze he shot Marco was unreadable. “Yeah, me too.” 

*

It was probably around two in the morning when Mario unlocked the door to Marco’s flat with his spare key and wrapped an arm around Marco to keep him from falling flat on his face when the surface he’d been resting against suddenly moved. 

“Jesus, Marco”, he said and Marco couldn’t figure out whether he sounded amused or irritated. “Is there any alcohol left in that club or did you drink it all?” 

Marco tried to come up with a snarky answer that would both point out that he’d managed the stairs perfectly well on his own (thank god for bannisters) and reference that one time Mario had thrown up on his shoes after overhydrating and doing sprints. Unfortunately Mario still had his arms around him, and Marco found that distracting enough that he simply kept quiet. It was stupid, really. This was far from the first time Mario had touched him this way. Hell, it probably didn’t even rank in the top ten of what Kevin pointedly called their ‘cuddly spells’. They’d touched more closely and intimately on the pitch for God’s sake, celebrating a goal. Only then Mario’s touch hadn’t left him dry-mouthed and weirdly…aware of his best friend’s body in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. 

He could feel Mario’s warmth against his side as he moved them through the dark hallway towards Marco’s bedroom, his shoulders at the perfect height for Marco to rest his arm around him. Mario kicked the door to his bedroom open and shuffled them through, depositing Marco on the bed with a grunt. Marco went willingly, sighing in relief at the familiar feel of his mattress beneath his back. For the first time since he’d left their table at the club the constant buzzing feel of nausea settled into a low murmur. He tried to pull up his legs and one of his shoes caught on the comforter. After a few moments of trying to figure out how his limbs worked, Marco gave up with a faint groan and only opened his eyes again when he heard a chuckle. 

“You are pathetic, Reus,” Mario told him fondly and moved over to pull his shoes off. “You should thank your lucky stars that I am an awesome best friend and would never take advantage of your vulnerable state. Kevin would draw a dick on your face, if he was in my position right now.”

“Your face is a dick on your face,” Marco said rather nonsensically and watched as Mario briefly hesitated before unbuttoning his jeans and started pulling on the legs to get them off Marco. They wouldn’t go immediately since Marco couldn’t get his hips to move in the right direction to make the whole process easier. “Also, Kevin is a douchebag.”

Mario hummed something that sounded like agreement and then triumph when he finally managed to peel Marco out of the skinny jeans. He dropped them to the floor and Marco was too struck by the sudden feeling of vertigo to admonish him. The room was still dark, but Marco could easily make out the line of Mario’s jaw as he leaned over Marco to tuck the sheets around him, the fine shape of his eyebrows. His hands were warm where they touched Marco’s chest.

Marco didn’t pause to think about it, simply reached up to slide his hand around the back of Mario’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Mario’s lips were soft, parted– probably to ask Marco what the hell he was doing, as if he _knew_ – and Marco didn’t have enough coordination left to keep their noses from bumping together awkwardly, Mario’s teeth slicing against his bottom lip. It wasn’t the best first kiss Marco had ever had, but he was still disappointed when Mario’s hands on his chest tightened and he pulled back. Both of them were breathing quietly and for a few moments it was the only sound in the room until Mario spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ he started and then interrupted himself. “We can’t do this.” 

Marco frowned in dismay. “We can, actually. Come back here.” He tried to pull him back but Mario resisted, gently untangling Marco’s fingers from the back of his neck. Stubbornly Marco held onto his hand instead, not willing to give up any inch of Mario he didn’t strictly have to. 

“Marco,” Mario sighed and even without being able to entirely see his expression, Marco knew he looked exasperated. “We can’t do this. You don’t _want_ to do this. You’re drunk and you feel sorry for me.”

Marco scowled. He knew he couldn’t argue the first point, his drunkenness had been well established during the course of the night, but that didn’t mean he had no idea what he was doing. It didn’t account for how that guy’s hands on Mario had shocked him into a feeling of helpless jealousy he hadn’t experienced since Marco’s ex-girlfriend in high school had made out with one of his teammates in front of him at a party. And it didn’t account for the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of his own hands on Mario since then. 

“Bullshit,” he said roughly. “What exactly would I feel sorry for, asshole? You’re rich, handsome and insanely successful; cry me a fucking river, Götze.”  
It startled a laugh out of Mario and Marco grinned up at him, tightening his grip on Mario’s fingers. He turned it over and used his other hand to draw a pattern into the rough palm. “Hey,” he murmured and Mario turned his eyes from their entwined fingers to look at him. “I want this,” Marco said softly. 

Mario held his gaze for moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded jerkily. “Alright,” he said and then, as if to himself. “Alright, ok. We still can’t do this.” 

Marco, whose chest had filled with hope at his words, deflated a little. “What? Why?”

Mario sighed again and used his distraction to pull his hand from Marco’s grip and tuck the sheets around him. “Because you’re very, very drunk and not really in any position to make decisions right now. And as already established, I’m not taking advantage of that, be it for drawing a dick on your face or otherwise.” 

He hesitated before continuing. “If you really want- we can talk about it in the morning." He still sounded dubious and Marco wanted to punch whoever had put these doubts about his own desirability into Mario’s head. He knew how to pick his battles though and was aware Mario wouldn’t budge on this, no matter how good Marco was at wheedling him into doing things otherwise. Also, there was the fact that Marco was fucking exhausted. 

“Ok,” he muttered and turned onto his side with some difficulty, as Mario got up. The last thing he was aware of before slipping into sleep was a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

*

When Marco opened his eyes the next morning he immediately wished he hadn’t, groaning at the harsh morning light that came in from the windows. Was it really necessary for the sun to shine that fucking brightly? The mere fact that it had already reached his bed meant that he’d slept till nearly noon. With some effort Marco managed to roll onto his side and buried his face in one of the pillows, blessed darkness engulfing him once more. 

He might have even been able to fall asleep again, if it wasn’t for the retched taste in his mouth that he wasn’t willing to examine too closely. Swallowing the pathetic noise that wanted to escape his throat when he dug himself out of the sheets, Marco sat on the side of his bed and willed his headache to subside enough for him to actually get up. He nearly tripped over his pants on the way to the bathroom and cursed, banging his shin on the edge of his dresser. 

Thankfully his shower was waiting for him with hot water and pressure settings that had been half the reason for Marco to pick this place when he’d looked into Dortmund real estate. Leaning his head against the tile Marco let the steady drum of the water wash away some of the stiffness in his shoulders and back, easing his headache considerably. By the time he’d slathered himself from head to toe in his favorite body wash and brushed his teeth for nearly five minutes, he almost felt human again. Padding into his bedroom, Marco dug through his closet for his most comfortable sweatpants and shirt. His headache had been alleviated by the shower but Marco still swallowed some aspirin from his nightstand before making his way to the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the doorway and took in the sight in front of him. 

Mario was standing at the counter, squinting at the toaster Marco’s sister had gifted him with, even though the apartment came fully furnished and supplied. She’d insisted it was a tradition, while Marco insisted it was a fire hazard, since it started smoking if you used it for more than five minutes at a time. Mario had obviously just gotten up, his hair sleep-mussed, sticking up strangely at the back of his head and pillow-creases running up his bare upper arm. Probably from his habit of always clutching the blankets like a teddy-bear, Marco noted distractedly. 

Mario’s face was flushed, eyes half open and still puffy from sleep. He was wearing only his boxer shorts and what was obviously one of Marco’s t-shirts since it came down to mid-thigh and hung off his shoulders a little. It made him look slightly ridiculous and shortened his already stocky build considerably. He’d probably never been less attractive and Marco wanted him with a fierceness that took his breath away. 

He barely registered the memory of last night rushing back to him as he crossed his kitchen floor – Mario with that other guy, Mario tucking him in, his hands on Marco’s chest, Mario’s lips on his own for a fraction of a second – grabbing a hold of Mario’s arm and turning him. Mario gave a little yelp of surprise and stared up at Marco as he crowded him against the counter, his eyes wide as he took in the expression on Marco’s face.

“Tell me to stop,” Marco said hoarsely and when Mario only stared at him in astonishment, leaned in to kiss him. 

The feeling was a bit surreal. Marco had never kissed a guy before and while some of it was instantly familiar – Mario’s lips were very soft and Marco still had to bend down to slide their mouths together – there were other parts that made it impossible not to notice. The faint scrape of stubble against his own. The solid feel of Mario against his chest, all muscle and hard planes where Marco was used to feeling softness. Mario’s smell, a faint trace of aftershave from last night, so unlike from any perfume Marco’s girlfriends had used. It was different and it was intoxicating and Marco wanted more. 

There was a tiny bit of uncertainty when he swiped his tongue across Mario’s bottom lip and the relief when Mario responded instantly by opening his mouth and sighing a little as Marco slipped his tongue inside, was dizzying. Mario tasted like the coffee he’d probably downed before even opening his eyes all the way and Marco licked into his mouth, trying to chase the flavor of it. Mario groaned at that and bit down on Marco’s lip, purposefully and infinitely better than last night.  
It sent a tingle down Marco’s spine and he used the hold on Mario to pull him in even tighter, forcing Mario to rise up on his toes to keep kissing him. Marco had been half-hard already and when the upward movement brought his hands around to cup Mario’s ass, any remaining doubts about whether or not he would be able to go through with this, evaporated. He could feel Mario’s answering hardness pressed against his thigh and pulled away, breathing hard. 

“Bedroom?” Marco asked, proud of the fact that his voice didn’t crack on the word like it clearly wanted to. 

Mario’s eyes flashed. “Screw that,” he said and dropped to his knees. 

Marco felt like all the air had left his lungs. His vision went hazy for a moment as he stared down at Mario, who was already sliding down Marco’s sweatpants with deft fingers. Cool air hit his bare legs and Marco could actually feel the tiny hairs on his thigh pricking up, whether as a reaction to the temperature or Mario’s touch he didn’t know. Mario slid his hands up his legs, fingertips touching the insides of Marco’s thighs and he looked up at Marco briefly before leaning in and placing a kiss on his hip. 

His mouth left wet trails as he kissed his way along the top of Marco’s waistband, almost casually using his finger to slide beneath the hem of his briefs and stroke the skin there. His breath was warm as he pulled down the briefs a little to lick at the sensitive skin below Marco’s belly button. Marco had never been this hard in his life, erection tenting his briefs and leaving a wet spot where it was leaking into the material. 

Mario seemed to notice this, too, since he pulled back and surveyed the sight Marco made for a long moment before flicking his eyes up to meet Marco’s gaze. “You might want to hold on for the next part,” he said in a low voice before leaning in and mouthing the head of Marco’s cock through his briefs, one hand slipping up between his legs to cup his balls. Marco’s hands shot out instinctively to catch himself on the counter as his knees gave a little. 

“Jesus, fuck, Mario you-“ he cut himself off with a groan as Mario hooked his fingers in the waistband of Marco briefs and pulled them down enough to release his cock. He didn’t hesitate or tease, simply took Marco in his mouth and started to suck and oh God, this was going to be over so fast- His legs were trembling as  
Mario slid his mouth down over and over again, taking him a little deeper each time. For a brief moment Marco’s mind paused to contemplate how many encounters he must have had before being able to do that with such ease, but quickly pushed it away. 

He groaned when Mario pulled off and then stared in amazement as Mario put both hands on his hips, guiding Marco back into his mouth. The intention was clear and Marco nearly came right then, as the realization hit him that Mario wanted him to fuck his mouth. Jesus. Marco’s knuckles were white on the counter and he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood as he slowly counted backwards from ten. Mario was waiting for him patiently, drawing little circles in the crease of Marco’s thigh with his thumb. 

It took Marco a few moments to calm down enough that he could be sure he wouldn’t come from the first push into Mario’s mouth. Once he did, Marco slid one hand into the spiky softness of Mario’s hair, tentatively stroking the skin behind his ear; not a hold but a caress. Mario squeezed his thigh as if in answer, an encouragement. Hesitantly Marco started to move his hips, sliding into Mario’s mouth and withdrawing in shallow thrusts. Mario encouraged him with his hands, mouth wet and warm around Marco as he pushed past his lips over and over again. Marco could feel the movement of Mario’s jaw where he still had his hands cupped to stroke his hair and when Mario looked up at him beneath his lashes, he knew he wouldn’t last another minute.

“Wait,” he gasped out, unable to completely still the movement of his hips. “Mario wait, I’m going to-“ 

Mario sat back and licked his lips, swollen and shiny with spit. His voice was rough when he spoke. “You’re clean?” 

For a second Marco was still too caught up in the loss of Mario’s mouth but then the words registered and he nodded. They had to get tested every three months as part of the WADA regimen and he’d gotten the full check-up after Caro and him had split up. Mario didn’t wait for further explanations, simply took Marco back into his mouth and blew him hard and fast, fingers sliding up to stroke his balls tenderly. Marco’s orgasm hit him so quickly and forcefully he was afraid of losing his balance, clutching at Mario’s shoulder and the counter as his legs seized up. They were still trembling when Mario let his softening cock slip from his mouth and hauled himself up to lean against Marco. 

Before he could think too much on it, Marco pressed him back into the counter and slipped a hand into Mario’s shorts, taking hold of his erection. The mental disconnect threw him for a second, the familiar feel of a dick in his hand but without the accompanying sensation and the wrong angle, but he recovered quickly, jerking Mario off with tight controlled movements. Mario dropped his head to Marco’s chest and groaned, watching Marco’s hand move between them. His hair tickled Marco’s throat as he pressed into him, making it harder for Marco to keep the rhythm he’d established. It still didn’t take more than a minute before Mario started to tremble; breath hitching as he nearly silently came into Marco’s hand and his shorts. 

For a few moments they just stood there swaying against each other, Marco still half naked and Mario sticky and flushed, both of them breathing hard. Mario felt good against him, solid and warm, and Marco swallowed a noise of protest when he pulled away. Mario avoided his gaze as he tucked on the shirt he was wearing to unsuccessfully try and cover the soiled state of his shorts; as if Marco hadn’t been the one with his hands on his dick just a few seconds ago. 

“I think I need a shower,” he muttered, still keeping his eyes on the floor as he slipped past Marco, who was too dumbfounded to reply.

It took him a few moments to gather himself before he started to move again, tucking himself back into his briefs and sweatpants and taking a couple of steps to collapse into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He could hear the faint sounds of the shower through the open hallway door as he sat, staring at the spot where Mario had been sucking his dick about five minutes ago, with unseeing eyes. Marco felt a bit dazed, the sheer implication of what they’d just done catching up to him. 

He’d just had sex with his best friend, with _Mario_ , in his fucking kitchen, all of two minutes after realizing that this might be something he would like to do. And he’d been damn near ready for a second round, only Mario had apparently decided to freak out about the whole thing before Marco had even gotten a chance to kiss him again. Fuck. What if Mario already regretted it? He’d clearly been against it last night and Marco had just ambushed him earlier, barely leaving him time to decide before sticking his tongue down his throat. 

_Don’t be ridiculous. He wanted you just as much; he wouldn’t have gone along with it otherwise._ Only was that really true? Marco remembered his best friend’s words from last night, the cool cynicism with which he’d laid out his predicament: a football player couldn’t be anything but straight, and if you were, you better hid it well, as long as you wanted to play. The mere fact that Mario, who despite from being the messiest and most disorganized person Marco knew, was pretty uptight about cleanliness, had been willing to make out with a stranger in a dingy bathroom, told volumes about his desperation. Had Marco taken advantage of that? 

The thought made him nauseous. This whole situation had been complicated enough due to his own jumbled up feelings on the matter. Marco wasn’t prone to endless hours of introspection, but he’d pretty much assumed he was straight until last night. Sure, there had been the stray thought here and there, an absent admiration of some teammate’s body, but he’d always been fairly certain about his attraction to girls instead of guys. Except that his attraction to Mario, with his golden skin and round cheeks and frankly _ridiculous_ eyebrows, was pretty much undeniable at this point. 

Marco groaned as he buried his head in his hands. This would have been too much for him to handle even at his best, and he definitely wasn’t at his best right now, head still hazy with the remnants of his hangover and the possibly quickest orgasm he’d had since turning twenty. He simply couldn’t deal with a sexual identity crisis right now. The only thing he was still certain of was, that he wanted to kiss Mario again, which his best friend had made quite impossible by running out on him in the midst of their post-coital glow. 

A cough from behind him brought Marco out of his musings and he turned to see Mario hovering awkwardly at the kitchen door, hair wet and wearing his clothes from last night. Marco felt a stab of fear when he realized that Mario had obviously not felt comfortable enough to dig through Marco’s closet to steal something of his, like he usually would have. Mario was clearly trying to gain some distance here and it scared Marco enough to snap him out of his wallowing. 

“Listen,” he said quickly before Mario could start letting him down easy. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

An expression Marco couldn’t interpret crossed Mario’s face but he didn’t say anything, so Marco pressed on. “I just acted without thinking it through and I don’t want his to make things weird between us.” 

Mario raised an eyebrow at him. “We had sex,” he said flatly. “I’d say that makes it pretty damn weird, Marco.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Marco said, forcing himself to stay calm even though his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. “It was my fault in the first place, and I’m sorry, ok? But people have sex all the time, it’s not the end of the world. We can just forget about it, if that’s what you want.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was such a mess and he only had himself to blame for it. “I really am sorry, Mario.” 

“God, would you stop saying that,” Mario snapped. “It’s fine, already forgotten, whatever. Just quit apologizing, for God’s sake.” He looked a bit shocked at his own outburst, as if he’d revealed too much, and walked over to the counter to start fiddling with the coffee pot. 

Marco’s mind was running a thousand miles a minute as he took in his best friend’s hunched form. Before he could think too much about it, he was up and closing the space between them, gently touching Mario’s tense back. Mario didn’t turn and Marco ran his fingers down between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry it upset you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry it’s making things weird, but I’m not sorry about kissing you in the first place. I wanted to. I still want to. I’m not sorry about that.”

“You’re not gay, Marco,” Mario said quietly, without turning around. “Whatever you think you’re- it’s not.”

Marco felt a pang in his chest at that but held his ground. “Maybe not,” he agreed, running his hands up to rest on Mario’s shoulders. “But I still want you. It doesn’t have to change anything.” 

That finally made Mario move. “Not change anything?” he echoed in disbelief as he turned around to face Marco. “Are you serious?” 

“We’re still best friends,” Marco said and the relief when Mario didn’t immediately contradict him to insist that Marco had fucked up their relationship for good by dragging his attraction to Mario out in the open, was so strong, it took him a moment to continue. “You’ll always be my best friend, no matter what happens.” 

“So you’re suggesting what exactly?” Mario asked. “Stay best friends and fuck? To be friends with benefits?” 

“If that’s what you want to call it. If you want me, too, then I don’t know why we shouldn’t try,” Marco said softly. He reached up to slide his palm against Mario’s cheek, the skin there warm and soft beneath his fingers. “Even though I don’t know what this is. Can we please try?” 

Mario stared at him with for what felt like forever until he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When he opened them again, there was a look to him Marco couldn’t interpret, almost resigned, which seemed wrong somehow. “Alright.” he said softly.

It took Marco a second to catch up. “I- alright? Are you saying-“ His gaze flitted down to catch on Mario’s lips, as they stretched in a helpless smile. 

“I’m saying,” he confirmed as he leaned up to catch Marco’s mouth with his own. “We can try.” 

~

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this just kind of happened, because Götzeus. As you could probably tell, this work is unbetaed. If a native speaker would be up for betaing this or the possible sequel, just shoot me a PM. Any feedback is appreciated <3


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